


Deja Vu

by dorothy_notgale



Series: The More Loving One (Beyond Beyond Re-Animator) [2]
Category: Beyond Re-Animator (2003), Re-Animator (1985)
Genre: Creepy, Dark!Dan, Details Later, Gen, Gore, Interstitial, how many lives?, pet death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 14:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5052577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorothy_notgale/pseuds/dorothy_notgale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We can't be responsible for every sick thing that wanders into our lives!”</p><p>Dr. Daniel Abel wants his life to be orderly, predictable, and normal--like him. Dr Daniel Abel's girlfriend gives him a cat. Dr. Daniel Abel has very real problems that he can't blame on anyone but himself. He used to be able to, but... well. He was another person back then.</p><p>Maybe a pet will help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deja Vu

_The cat's brought Dan a gift. Left it all laid out on his pillow._

_It's sticky._

_He put his hand in it before noticing._

_Now, with the lights on, he sees that the size of the organs suggests “squirrel”—and sure enough, there the rest of it is on the floor. The viscera have been removed and placed with surprising precision, considering it's just tooth and claw. They've gone cold, bloodstains already well-set and browning in the linen._

_Pet ownership. Housemates._

 

~*~*~*~

 

It's Allie who starts feeding the scrawny seal-point Siamese with a kinked tail. Dan usually ignores the occasional stray that slinks out of the woods behind his isolated house, but in this case it's early Fall and Allie has a soft heart. (That is, after all, one of the reasons Dan supposes he adores her, even after only a few months of dating.) She puts a dish of scraps on the back porch whenever she comes over, and pretty soon it starts meowing at the door on the nights she doesn't.

It gets easier to just buy cat food than to argue about it.

 

~*~*~*~

 

_Some things never change._

_Dan smiles ruefully, brushing the mess into a wastebasket. The bedclothes are a loss, but it's the thought that counts, isn't it?_

_Allie always liked these best, though. She'll hate to see the return of the navy ones._

_Everyone has opinions._

 

~*~*~*~

 

“It's a wild animal, honey.” The cat yowls piteously, somehow blocking the entire driveway with its platter-sized body.

“Wild, my foot,” Allie says, stroking its probably fleabitten head and cooing. “Any cat this friendly was probably someone's pet two days before we started feeding him.”

“We can't be responsible for every sick thing that wanders into our lives!”

She stares, then, honey hazel eyes big and wounded as if he's confessed to murder. (That look is, in fact, one of the many reasons he _hasn't_ told her who he was.)

“Sometimes I don't understand you at all. How can you be a doctor with an attitude like that?”

“I wasn't always a pediatrician, Allie.” He shoves his sunglasses down to pinch the bridge of his nose against impending headache. “In emergencies, doctors have to triage—”

“Well, there's no emergency now, and we're taking him to the vet.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

_He's feeling a touch nostalgic as he bundles things into the trash and checks the mattress for any soaked-through blood. Luckily, squirrels are considerably smaller fonts of the stuff than... He'll have to see about cleaning a few drops off the floor without damaging the hardwood, but that's easier by far than using a carpet shampooer._

_He really hates getting hearts as presents, though._

 

~*~*~*~

 

“And what's your cat's name?” the receptionist in puppy-print scrubs asked.

Dan freezes.

“Socks,” Allie almost shouts, digging a sharp elbow into his side.

“Alright, Dr. Abel, Ms. Forderingay—someone will be right out to see poor little Socks.”

In the end, Dan's left with an $2100 vet bill and instructions to make sure the cat stays warm and gets plenty of water while it recovers from swallowing a piece of rubber. He effectively owns a very stupid pet named after footwear.

“Why don't you take it home?” Dan asks, holding Socks's new crate while Allie sets up the kitty bed and litterbox in his laundry room. She seems to be under the impression that Dan has never kept a pet before, and he's in no mood to correct her if it means not having to do the work.

“My landlord doesn't allow pets,” she says from on hands and knees. “Anyway, letting him live here means we won't have to get him resettled if I ever move in.” Though it's said lightly, there's a hint of probing in her manner.

He swallows. “You're saying you want to move in?”

“Maybe.” She tucks an escaping copper curl behind her ear and dimples shyly. “I spend a lot of time here anyway, and things have been good, you know?”

Silence, except for Socks struggling with the plastic cone around its neck. Dan prays for death while Allie's smile congeals.

“Is it too soon to talk about this?”

“No, it's just... I haven't had the best luck living with people.” When hiding his past, he's found that understatement is the name of the game.

“Well, my lease isn't up for about nine months anyway.” Allie walks out to the back porch, then returns to place the outdoor food and water dishes on an old towel with perhaps a bit more force than strictly necessary. “Who knows, maybe Socks will be such a good roommate that he'll make you change your mind.”

He could try to explain—tell her some scrubbed-up, deathless, straight version of the five years he'd lived with a madman in half a dozen houses on two continents. Tell her about sharing breakfasts and dinners, rent and work, with a person he'd thought was, if not safe, at least captivating. Talk about letting someone into his life to ruin it. But telling her anything at all might make it seem like he's interested in being persuaded.

She stays at her place that night. Socks drunkenly claws the baseboard until Dan moves its things into the en-suite master bath.

 

~*~*~*~

 

“ _Hey there, Socks.”_

_It peeks in from the doorway, posture evincing a mix of wariness and pride._

“ _Thank you, fella, but you can't be doing this anymore.”_

“ _Brrrrrt?” Its wide, blue eyes blink guilelessly as it licks a blood-filthy paw._

“ _C'mere.” He pats the bed with one hand, the other braced beside a heavy paperweight on the nightstand. “Pssss-pssss-pssss!” It takes a cautious step forward, and he beckons again. “Come on, you dumb cat.”_

_Finally Socks springs up, taking the bed (and Dan's lap) in a single bound._

“ _Good boy, Socks.” He strokes its back._

_It brought him a gift._

 

~*~*~*~

 

He should have remembered before letting Allie start dinner, but it had been a long day. Still, he knows what's going on the moment her shriek echoes from the kitchen.

“Honey, I need you to calm. Down. You're hysterical.” Her shoulders heave in his grasp until she flings herself across the room, as far as possible from Dan and the refrigerator.

“Jesus Christ, Dan, what the _FUCK_ is wrong with you‽” Her hair flies with her movements, showing fatal silver at the roots. Her face blotches red and white under her freckles.

“Oh, for the love of—I was going to show you.” He throws his hands up; letting her find it unwarned was an honest mistake. _What more is there to say, really?_

“You killed your cat and you were going to _show me‽”_

“It was dead when I found it!” he snaps. “It got its head stuck in a jar!”

Why can't anything be reasonable?

 


End file.
